


Letters and Love (Shouldn't Mix)

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Child, Fluff, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, that is not how you flirt, wow look at my awkward son lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 18:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9670037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sometimes, people bottle up their feelings. Literally.(Or, in which Lance writes down little thoughts he has about Keith and keeps them in a box where he can hide them away and not think about them. It doesn't work.)





	

It started out as a way to insult Keith; really, it did. After all, if he was going to get yelled at by not just Shiro now, but Allura as well, every time he made fun of his horrific mullet, or his ridiculous gloves, or his cropped, useless, eyesore that he called a jacket, then he might as well write it down on a scrap of paper instead of saying it out loud and receiving a never ending lecture. Lance had been planning to save all of these up and throw the container at Keith one day, just to tell him exactly how he felt. The mere thought never failed to make a self-satisfied smirk break out across his face.

Keith, every single time, was immediately suspicious, and the only thing keeping Lance from blurting out his innermost thoughts was the color he was imagining Keith's face turn when he figured out exactly what Lance had written on all of those slips of paper. 

And so, Lance did. Or rather, he tried. Truly, he did; the very first few tiny scraps of paper had little snide comments about how dumb his hair was today _(Christ, do you even shower? It's like your hair is just constantly in a state of “fashion disaster”)_ , or how especially extra Keith had been at practice _(“hI, I'm Keith, and my stupid bayard and I can knock you across a room before you can so much as tAKE A GODDAMN BREATH AND TURN AROUND SO YOUR BACK ISN’T TO ME.” Show-offy asshole.)_ but eventually… eventually they had become less of a way to complain about Keith and his presence on the Castle _(I can't believe I'm stuck in an alien spaceship, with_ you _of all people. Such bs)_ and more like… well, Lance didn't really want to examine that can of worms too closely. 

_(I'm glad you're here. You make everything less lonely.)_

~~~

Within forty quintents, the square, clear container Lance had dug up in a dusty room was full. Lance searched for vargas trying to find another. 

~~~

_(The way you smile when I do something stupid makes me just want to do more stupid things)_

~~~

That container was full in only twenty-five quintents this time. 

~~~

Time flew by, marked no longer by earsplitting bells declaring school periods and loud, confusing, busy phone calls home, but by blaring, heart-attack-inducing alarms and planets liberated. And through every heroic attack, every terrifying defeat, every heart-wrenching death, Lance clung to writing those notes like a drowning person to a life preserver. 

~~~

_(I think I could fall in love with you)_

~~~

_(You suck at swimming)_

~~~

Lance didn't feel the need to keep the containers hidden; after all, nobody just wanders in each other's rooms. Their rooms were almost sacred; they were the only place where they were allowed to be alone in the Castle, where not even a soul could encroach on their privacy, where they could cry, and shake, and scream, and no one would dare intrude. 

So, when Keith just barged into Lance’s room, all he could do was drop his book and let out a startled squawk. Sure, Keith and Lance were hardly at each other's throats anymore, and it's not like they weren't friends, but still; the sheer _audacity_ of it all was absolutely appalling, even though it was Keith, who had enough social graces to maybe halfway fill a pencil case. _Maybe_ fill it; the jury was still out on that one. 

Lance was ready to jump off of his bunk and shoot at Keith, push him out of the room, and figure out how to lock the door, but the way Keith looked made him pause, for just a moment. His hair, although usually a tangled, fluffy mess, was even more astounding than usual; parts of it were sticking straight up, as if Keith had dumped a gallon of hair gel and spiked it up in a failed attempt to become Guy Fieri; there were stark bruises under his determined eyes; the top of his tight fitting shirt was soaked in sweat, which, ew, _gross_ , and, most alarming of all, his bayard was clutched in his hand, still very much activated. 

Lance paused only for a moment, but that moment was enough for Keith to stand up straight, take a deep breath, and let a rushed sentence tumble out of his mouth. 

“I like you more than a friend. I have for a while.”

Lance waited a beat, and when the awkward silence stretched on for a few more ticks, realized that there would be no more explanation. Lance’s mouth opened and closed, because _really_ ; how was one supposed to react when someone bursts into your room, looking all but insane, and confesses to you?

Keith because to fidget, and turned his gaze to look at the floor. His hand not holding onto his bayard clenched. 

“I- I just wanted you to know”, Keith mumbled, and spun on his heel, prepared to leave just as quickly as he had entered. 

Lance knew himself. He knew exactly how easily he put his foot in his mouth, how fragile a situation this was, and how he could ruin everything with a single word. His mind was trying to reboot as quickly as possible, but the servers had all crashed and the hard drive was shot to hell. Lance’s eyes darted from Keith, to his room, to Keith's _still very much activated bayard_ , and back to Keith. In what must have been half a tick, but felt like a millennia and a half, Lance spotted the containers of papers on his desk, the containers full of little thoughts that he had carefully cultivated over the past year, full of what Lance reluctantly admitted were tiny love letters that messily outlined every aspect of Lance's feelings for Keith. 

Lance leapt into action, and with a desperate cry of “Wait!”, ran to his desk, stumbling over the light clutter on the floor on his way. He grabbed the most recent box, only about three quarters of the way full, and thrust it towards Keith's chest. 

“Just… just take it, okay? Read them.”

And with that, Lance spun the wide eyed Keith around, gently pushed him out of his room, and let it slide closed behind him, Keith vanishing from his sight. He then sagged back against the door, tangled his hands in his hair, and slid slowly to the ground. 

“Fuck”, Lance whispered fervently. 

~~~

_(Fuck)_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know if there are any mistakes! Happy (early) Valentine's Day!


End file.
